The Color Pink
by Phx
Summary: Originally published in Blood Brothers 2. Dean thought the prank was pretty funny until he went to pick Sam up after school. Two Shot.
1. Chapter 1

_Originally published in 'Blood Brothers 2'. _

**The Color Pink**

**Chapter One**

"_Dean_!" Fourteen-year-old Sam Winchester's voice screeched out the name like a curse. "I'm going to _kill_ you!!"

Glancing up from his third bowl of Lucky Charms, Dean grinned, not taking his younger brother's threat seriously and knowing exactly what had set the kid off. At eighteen, the older hunter had filled out and packed on enough muscle that he could easily overpower his much lankier sibling. Not that he ever did, of course… What Sam made up for in height, he seriously lacked in mass, something Dean took great joy in tormenting him about at every chance. Like now.

"Yeah, like I'm worried, Stringbean Boy. Now get your ass in gear or we're going to be late!"

"Are you freakin' nuts?" Sam's squawk was absolutely priceless. "I can't go like this!"

"Like what?" Oh, it took great talent to nudge innocence into those two words. After all, he was the one who'd sabotaged his brother's laundry in the first place.

"Everything is _pink_!!"

"Not everything, Sam," Dean said ever so reasonably, "only the white stuff." Of course, when one considered that ninety-nine percent of Sam's clothing was white, with the exception of his jeans and jacket, well then, yeah, the kid might have had a point…

What could Dean say? It had just been too tempting.

Sam's whites: the washer anally set to hot, _Gotta keep whites white, Dean_.

Dean's red t-shirt: oops, how'd that get in there?? _Like I give a damn, Sam._

It was probably a good thing Dad wasn't going to be back for a week.

"You're such a jerk!"

Dean smirked as he heard stomping from the back room. Their father had actually gotten them a decent place to stay this time. It had a washing machine, a back room and everything.

"The world's biggest, meanest, stupidest jerk!"

The bathroom door slammed.

"A jerk?" Dean yelled towards the hall. "That the best you can do?" He shook his head as he drained the milk from his cereal bowl, then addressed the empty room. "How in the hell can the kid be raised by me and Dad, and that be the best he can come up with? Geez, I'm embarrassed!"

As if Sam heard him, the next round of angrily spat words were enough to curl the wallpaper. And Dean was proud.

-------

"I hate you," a very pissed off fourteen-year-old grumbled as Dean pulled the Impala into an empty parking space outside the school. "You have no idea how much I hate you."

Dean grinned. This was going better than he could have hoped. Tormenting his Sammy… Ah, the joys of being the older brother. "Oh…I think I have some idea."

"No, Dean," Sam denied as he pushed open the door, barely waiting for the car to stop. "I don't think you do!" Then he stormed away from the car, pausing once to throw a withering look back at Dean before he pulled dramatically at his jacket collar to hide his shirt, and raced into the school.

Dean, at least, had enough self-control to wait until his brother was out of earshot before he doubled over, holding his stomach as he burst out laughing. Oh, this was good. Poor Sam. Everything he had was pink.

Freakin' little girl, nursery powder pink!

From Sam's once-white socks and underwear to the now roseblush t-shirt he was wearing. _Pink._

Courtesy of Dean.

"Not my fault the kid only _had_ white shirts," Dean consoled himself once he could actually breathe well enough to move out of the driver's seat. "Little anal retentive ass should have diversified his interests." He paused in consideration. "Diversified? Huh…good word." Then he slammed the car door and followed his brother at a much more leisurely pace.

This was going to be fun.

------

At the end of the day, Sam was still furious with his brother. In fact, he couldn't remember a time in all his life—including the dreaded NAIR incident of last fall—when he'd ever been so angry with Dean. But this time he'd crossed the line.

Hair grew back. Red dye was permanent and now the bulk of Sam's clothing was ruined. Well, technically not ruined. Pink. But that was just as bad. And the inconsiderate ass wouldn't even let him borrow anything to wear today!

Could this get any worse?

Of course it could if the looks he was getting from a couple of the school jocks were anything to go by. Great. Freakin' great.

"Hey, queer-boy." One of the older kids was leering at him. "Don't you just look so sweet in your gay homosexual pink shirt…"

Sam's mouth was moving before he even thought about it—yup, he was related to Dean. "Technically color is sexless…kinda like you, moron." What the hell? Did he just say that?

Oh, no, Sam Winchester was not asking for an ass-kicking at all. Not that he couldn't handle himself in a fight. But there were three of them. Three very obviously homophobic Neanderthals, and those odds would suck even for Dean.

Great. He was wearing a pink t-shirt, pink socks and if it got that far, pink boxers. Still, Sam's mouth—obviously on a suicide mission—blabbered on. "So if you jerks don't mind—"

Huh. Apparently they did, because Sam never got a chance to finish the thought.

------

Dean hated waiting. Leaning against the side of the Impala, his legs crossed at the ankles and his arms folded across his chest, he wondered what in hell could be keeping his brother. Sam was never late.

A couple of guys he knew straggled out of the school and Dean called over to them, "Hey, fellas, see my kid brother on the way out?"

"Who? Sam? Not today," one of them said.

Another of them grinned and added, "Mind you, if he's still pissed about that stunt you pulled with his shirt, he might have just gone out another door and walked home. I know I would have. Hell, then again if you were my brother, I'd have probably slit my wrists by now!"

Dean flipped him off good-naturedly, and the guys laughed and walked away, reminding him about a chemistry test in the morning as they left.

Once the young men were gone, Dean frowned and pushed away from the car. No matter how angry Sam probably still was about the prank, he'd never leave the school without letting Dean know. Safety wasn't something they took lightly. So if Sam wasn't here and hadn't called him, then he was still in the school.

Muttering under his breath about irritable little brothers, Dean strode back towards the building.

"Sam?" he shouted, his voice an empty echo against the mostly vacant halls. "Sammy!" A teacher stuck her head out of a classroom and frowned. Dean shrugged, lowered his voice a notch and called again. "Sam!"

Starting at his brother's locker, Dean methodically checked the classrooms and closets for his errant little brother. Each unanswered call, every Sam-less corridor lanced him with increasing fear. This wasn't funny anymore… Okay, _this_ was never funny.

His movements almost frenzied now, Dean ripped open the bathroom door and almost missed the sound in his hurry to check out the next room. Almost.

But the soft, distressed noise pinged, and he froze, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. "Sammy?" he pretty much whispered. Yes, he wanted to find his brother, but now he was afraid of what he might find. "You in here?"

Another noise, this one more affirmative, and Dean mentally sagged in relief as he stepped into the room and let the door close behind him. Sam was here.

"Jesus, Sam," he growled, now angry the kid had made him worry. "What the hell? You couldn't have waited until we got home?"

"Fuck off."

Dean stopped short. If he hadn't clued in that something might be wrong before, it slammed into him now. Sam never spoke like that.

"Sammy?" Dean stood quietly in front of the closed stall door.

"J-just-just go away!" The slight hitch in his brother's voice burned like acid in Dean's stomach. He swallowed down bile.

"Can't do that, little brother," he admitted, though it was more like "wouldn't do that" because no matter how much he tormented and teased the kid, Sam was his little brother, his_ family_, and that meant more to Dean than it probably should have. "What's wrong with you?" When no answer came, he took a stab in the dark. "Is this about your shirt?"

A breathy snort, and the eighteen-year-old raised his eyebrows in surprise. "It is, isn't it?" He rolled his eyes. "Geez, Sam, get over it already and let's go." He couldn't believe his brother. And here he was all worried it was something important.

"No."

Okay, that wasn't the reply he was expecting, but before he could respond, Sam added. "I…I can't." Again the hitch, and Dean realized his brother wasn't just pissed, he was really upset.

"Crap," he muttered under his breath as he scrubbed his hand over his face. He just wanted to go home, get something to eat and maybe even open his Chemistry book. Sighing, he tried to sound halfway contrite as his hand dropped and curled into a half-fist. "Look, dude, it was just a stupid prank, okay? I didn't mean to—" Dean almost choked on the word. God he hated these moments. "—_hurt_ you… There I said it, can we just go home now?"

"Dean…"

Sam's voice sounded so young and unsure it curdled Dean's normal desire to protect Sam into something positively lethal. There was something wrong here. Something very wrong.

He pressed his hand against the stall door, needing to see his brother. "Sammy? Let me in." Of course, Dean could pick the lock but it was more important to see if Sam would _let_ him in first. His "please" was unspoken but hung heavily between them nonetheless.

After a long moment, the lock slowly turned. Sam didn't push the door open, but Dean didn't need any further invitation. Slowly, he pressed against the stall, then stared in shock at his little brother.

His jaw worked for a few moments before the words came. "Uh, Sam," his brow crinkled in confusion, "where are your pants?"

Standing in front of him looking very miserable and exposed was Sam, wearing only a pink t-shirt, pink boxers and a pair of pink socks. Dean grappled with the image for a moment before he added, "And your sneakers?"

And then he saw the angry marks on his brother's arms, the bruised jaw, the wetness on Sam's cheek, and instead of seeing pink…he was seeing red.

Someone had hurt his brother.

------

Sam had never felt so humiliated before in his life. Bad enough the three goons had managed to manhandle him into the bathroom, but then they'd gotten his shoes and jeans off, leaving him cursing, kicking and—although he'd never admit this on pain of death to his older brother—crying as he tried to fight them off, terrified they wanted something more than his embarrassment.

They didn't.

He hadn't made it easy for them, and knew they'd be hurting in the morning, but it changed nothing. He'd still been stuck in the boy's bathroom with only the barest of his dignity left, waiting, both with dread and expectation for the inevitable. His brother.

Sam didn't doubt Dean would come for him. Dean always did, and he wasn't disappointed some thirty minutes later when the older hunter finally tracked him down. But now, as he saw murder light his brother's eyes, all Sam wanted was to go home and hide out in his bedroom until their father decided it was time to move. Education was overrated anyway…

"Who did this?"

Dean's voice was hard, and Sam fought not to flinch, knowing the anger wasn't directed at him. "Just some idiots." He loved his brother too much to see him in jail. "It's not important."

"Like hell it's not," Dean growled, his eyes locked onto the bruises. "Who, Sam?"

"Dean, please." Sam was too emotionally drained for this and he wrapped his arms gingerly around his body and shivered as he leaned against the wall. "I just want to go home."

"Did they…" Dean stalled, his eyes darting between Sam and some place to the side. "Did they…_shit!" _

Sam felt compassion flood him at his brother's anger for him. He knew what Dean was trying to ask, and smiled wanly. "No." He shivered again. "They just took my jeans."

"And your sneakers," Dean muttered as he slid out of his jacket and hung it over his brother's slighter frame. "And your jacket."

"Hadn't gotten my jacket yet," Sam admitted, stupidly giddy with gratitude and relief for the offering as his trembling fingers gripped the edges of the jacket and pulled it tight around him. It smelled of smoke and gun oil, the scent of his family, and it lulled his ragged emotions.

Okay. This was better.

Dean considered him for a few long moments and then asked simply, "Why?"

Sam swallowed hard and looked away. This was the question he'd been dreading. He didn't want to tell Dean why, knowing his brother would feel guilty. While he was still angry with his sibling for pulling this on him, Sam knew Dean would never intentionally do anything to hurt him and that meant a lot to him. In fact, it meant everything.

But Dean was smart, so Sam never had to answer.

"Was it the shirt?" the older Winchester blurted out, all the blood draining from his face, and then just as quickly refilling. "That's it, isn't it? They crapped on you because of a pink shirt." He snorted bitterly. "I did this to you." His voice filled with disgust as he repeated, "_I_ did this to you. No, I didn't stuff you in a stall and take your clothes but I might as well have. _Son of a bitch!" _

Dean twisted away angrily, but Sam reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him only because Dean let himself be stopped. There were no delusions here.

"No, Dean."

"Sammy." The pain in that one word was no match for the guilty remorse in turbulent green eyes.

"Don't." It was so many things. A plea. A command. A need. Sam just wanted to go home and he wanted his big brother to take him there. "Please…"

Bunched shoulders dropped, a breath exploded from tightly pressed lips, and then Dean nodded. "Okay." His voice was thick with emotion. He took another deep breath, and Sam watched in rapt awe as his brother reset himself, then repeated, sounding much more stalwart and composed this time, "Okay."

Grateful beyond words, Sam wrapped his brother's jacket around his waist and then followed Dean out of the bathroom and towards the car, stopping only long enough at his locker to grab his jacket and gym shoes. No one dared look for very long or comment on Sam's state of attire, not when the look on Dean's face could have cut granite.

Sam's older brother was pissed…and Sam had never felt so loved.

_**Second chapter will be up on Monday... I refuse to compete with all the E/O drabble posting on Sundays.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**The Color Pink**

**Chapter Two**

Dean needed a plan. It wasn't good enough just to find out who the punks were and put the fear of Winchester in them for messing with his little brother. He needed to do something to somehow make it up to Sam for ever putting him in such a crappy situation to begin with.

He cursed his devious ingenuity, knowing he hadn't planned that morning's prank as well as he should have, as well as his father had taught him to. Sure, Dean had kept money aside to replace some of the dyed clothes, intending to take the kid shopping in a couple of days—Sam needed new stuff anyway as most of his t-shirts and socks were threadbare after months of hard living—but he hadn't taken one very important variable into consideration: schoolyard bullies. He'd been expecting Sam to be embarrassed in front of his classmates, not assaulted by them.

Bullies. Dean hated them. He hated how they hunted in packs and preyed on younger and smaller kids, and he kicked himself for getting sloppy in his consideration of them at this school.

For the first time in a long time, Dean liked the school they were going to and actually had a group of guys he hung with on weekends, but it had lulled him into a false sense of security and he'd let his guard down—something that wouldn't be happening again.

Dropping down heavily on the couch, Dean let his gaze linger over the small pile of pink laundry Sam hadn't put away yet as the kid had pretty much retreated to his room for the evening after they got home. Dean snorted in self-disgust. Nice one, big brother, why not just serve him up on a big friggin' platter next time?

And then something flickered—the beginning of an idea. A plan.

His brow furrowed, gaze narrowing and a small smile twisting his lips as the plan slowly wound its way through his mind, deliciously perfect.

Decided, he smirked and grabbed the phone. This would work, but first he had a couple of calls to make…

------

Sam sat on the edge of his bed and seriously considered not going to school. He stared absently at the dark, ugly bruises on his arms and legs and sighed, wondering if today was going to cost him the only other pair of decent jeans he had as he was once again faced with his pink wardrobe. Fresh anger welled up at his brother's thoughtless prank but it was just as quickly squashed by despair. He loved his brother, he really did. But sometimes…Dean just sucked.

Sam stood, then crossed to the bathroom and considered asking Dean to borrow something, knowing his brother was feeling bad enough about what happened to let him. Although one of Dean's shirts would drape ridiculously on Sam's thinner frame, even tucked in, and he'd probably be accused of wearing a dress—or a blouse—this time.

Sighing again, his anger petered out, Sam resigned himself to another long day and stepped into the shower. Maybe no one would notice today.

Yeah, and maybe monkeys might fly out of my ass…

------

Dean already had his jacket on by the time Sam came out of the bedroom. He passed the younger boy a glass of milk to chug and a Pop-Tart to eat on the way.

"What's your hurry?" Sam grumbled between bites as he followed his brother out the door, barely remembering to grab his jacket and backpack. He knew he sounded surly, but really it was nervousness. Once again adorned in pink, this time a long-sleeved pink shirt to cover the bruises on his arms, Sam's stomach was tied up in knots; he was worried about what the reception would be like today. He really didn't relish another after-school bathroom run-in and vowed to stick close to Dean today.

"Nothing, Sammy boy, just got a test this morning I don't want to be late for."

Sam scowled at his brother but didn't say anything. He was still trying to get used to Dean actually liking this school. Not that he was complaining; it just sort of freaked him out a bit sometimes.

Swallowing the last of the Pop-Tart, Sam slid into the passenger seat and glanced across at his brother. He chewed his lip for a moment, then blurted out, "Meet me at my locker today?"

Something in Dean's jaw tightened, and Sam stiffened in anticipation of a sarcastic reply, but then the older teen looked at him, the hard lines in his face softened and he just nodded instead.

Relieved, Sam sank back in the seat and let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Okay, that should go a long way to protecting his pants. Now all he had to do was make it to the end of the day in one piece.

------

Dean parked in the same spot as the previous day, and walked with his brother to the school. Once in the hallway, they separated, but rather than going to his class, Dean waited a few moments, then followed Sam.

Fresh anger warred with guilt. He was bothered by Sam's request, unable to remember the last time his brother had wanted him to wait by his locker instead of just meeting up in the parking lot like they usually did. It spoke volumes of just how bothered Sam was over what had happened and made Dean feel even worse about his own unintentional part in the mess.

And it reinforced the importance of what he was about to do.

Nodding at a couple of his buddies, Dean continued to shadow his little brother after Sam dropped off his jacket in his locker and headed to his first class. Dean's eyes narrowed, and he moved to close the distance between them when he saw three guys take serious notice of his pink-shirted brother. Busted lip, black eye; it wasn't hard to figure out who they were, and Dean gave a little nod of approval. His brother was no pushover. Way to go, Sammy.

"Well, looky here," the first punk drawled out. "Seems like someone didn't learn his lesson very well."

"Or maybe," punk number two jeered, "he got off on it. Three guys taking off his pants, isn't that what every queer wants?"

Sam stopped and slowly turned around. Dean pressed himself to the side of the wall, out of his brother's view, and watched. As much as he wanted to break this up, this needed to be timed right. He risked a quick glance around.

Other students milled in the hallway, giving the four boys a wide berth, but no one intervened.

Dean's little brother stood his ground against the bigger teens, his fear and uncertainty locked down. "Exactly what is your problem?"

Dean could hear the exasperation in his brother's voice.

"You," the third guy growled.

Dean tensed at the threat, his fingers thrumming with the need to pummel something. He began to unzip his jacket…

"You friggin' homos—"

"It's just a pink shirt!" Sam burst out.

"—should all be lined up against a wall," the jocks moved in as the third guy finished, "and shot!"

"Hey!" Dean bellowed as he dropped his jacket and stepped into the middle of the hallway. Everyone froze. His voice dropped to a low growl. "Get the hell away from my brother."

Sam's eyes widened in shock, but Dean ignored him, his attention fully focused on the three thugs.

"You've got to be kidding," one of the guys huffed as he stared incredulously at Dean. "You, too?"

"Yeah." Dean smirked. "Me, too."

"And me," a voice suddenly chimed from behind him.

"And me." Another came from behind Sam, an echo through the halls as the whole corridor seemed to explode with senior boys wearing pink shirts.

There were eight in total, not including the Winchesters, and they rallied behind Dean, a formidable presence, especially in pink.

Dean's arms hung loosely by his sides, his hands curled into slight fists. "Consider this your only warning…" His voice dropped, deadly and promising. "Back off. We see you so much as breathe hard on any kid in this school, for any reason, and we'll paint the floors with your asses." He paused, his eyes locking briefly onto the eyes of each of the three other guys to make sure he had their undivided attention.

Behind him, a murmur started, low at first but gaining momentum as other kids in the corridor picked it up.

…No more bullying. No more bullying…

Dean tipped his chin up and crossed his arms. "Are we clear?" he barked, his voice harsh above the rising chant. Pale faced, the guys quickly nodded and then ducked away from the crowd when the principal appeared in the hallway demanding order and wanting to know what was going on.

Students quickly disappeared to their classes as Dean gave a quick nod in appreciation to his friends for their support, pleased by their response to his call and only vaguely curious about how they'd managed to come up with a pink shirt on such short notice. It reminded him there were still good people out there willing to do the right thing and stand up for others. Sometimes you just had to ask.

He stooped down to grab his jacket, then turned to his brother.

Sam hadn't moved, still standing in the same place the guys had cornered him and still watching Dean.

"Well…" Dean scratched at the side of his neck self-consciously, then shrugged. "Ah. Yeah…" He wasn't sure what to say, uncertain of how Sam was taking what he'd done.

And then something powerful flashed across his younger brother's face. Sam grinned, a rare, wide, wondrous grin that lit his whole face and, good grief the pink actually looked good on the kid. "Dude…" The double dimples flashed, and this time Dean had no trouble reading the gratitude and undisguised emotion behind the smile. "Wow. I—" His normally eloquent little brother seemed just as confounded by words as Dean, finally settling on another, "Wow," and then a heartfelt, "Thanks."

Dean nodded, finally finding his voice. "You're welcome."

"Winchester," Principal Severson's voice interrupted, "may I have a word with you?" Then the bald man amended, "Both of you?"

Sam looked at his brother, and Dean shrugged. "Don't worry, Sammy," he promised, "I got it all figured out…."

And he did.

Well…

Sorta.

------

Dean Winchester wasted no time. He marched into the pizza joint, kid-crowded on a Friday night, grabbed the first guy by the back of his neck, and dragged him into the nearby bathroom.

The other two guys followed. He knew they would.

"Hey—" the teen burst out as he was roughly shoved face first into the wall. The knife pressed against the side of his throat shut him up.

Dean didn't even look at the other jocks.

"You and me," he hissed, his voice lethal, "we got some unfinished business." One of the guys, the one with the split lip, made a move toward the door. "Don't," Dean growled and pressed the knife harder against the soft throat of his friend. "Did I say we were done yet?"

The kid froze.

"But-but…" black-eye guy stammered. "Back at the school…we thought…"

"You thought wrong." Dean cast an icy glare at the intellectual of the group. "That thing? With the shirts? That was for my brother." The bully he was holding squeaked as Dean ground his body further into the wall. "This? This is for me…"

------

Sam glanced up from the book he was reading on the couch when the door unlocked and his brother strode inside. His stomach grumbled as he asked, "Did you get the pizza?"

Dean grinned and held up two steaming boxes. "One large with the works for me, one baby meatlovers for you. I said no to a pre-chewed crust. Sammy's got all his teeth now."

"You are such a jerk," Sam grumbled, and then frowned. "What's that?" He pointed at a small bundle under Dean's arm.

The older teen put the food down on the coffee table and smirked. "Oh, this? Just a little something I picked up for you when I was out." Without another word, he tossed three pairs of jeans at his brother and walked out of the room.

Stunned, Sam stared at the clothes. He swallowed hard, blinked back the stinging that threatened to burn his eyes, and reached out to tentatively touch the jeans, knowing what his brother had done and why.

"Figured they might fit in a year or two."

Sam looked up to see his brother leaning in the doorway, halfway through his first piece of pizza.

"And if not," Dean shrugged casually, "we could always use them for gun rags or something."

The material was too coarse for cleaning, but Sam nodded anyway. Yeah, Dean could be a jerk, but he was Sam's jerk, and he really wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

His brother headed back to the kitchen and Sam followed him. "So, Dean," he finally found his voice, "what exactly are you planning on telling Dad about his socks?"

Dean's step faltered. He turned around very slowly and fixed Sam with a lethal look. "His socks? What about his socks?"

"Well, genius," Sam reached past him and snagged a piece of pizza from the open box, "you did remember Dad asking me to toss his whites in with mine the next time I did laundry, right?"

All the blood drained from his brother's face. "You didn't…" Dean forced the words out.

Sam smiled sweetly, inhaled his own first piece of pizza and added, "Yup. And his underwear. Although Dad's pretty secure in his masculinity—"

Dean grabbed his arm and had him halfway to the Impala before Sam finished.

"—so I'm sure he won't mind wearing pink!" His brother pushed him into the passenger seat and Sam looked around. "Where are we going, anyways?"

"Shopping."

"Shopping?" Sam looked out the window at the darkness. "Uh, Dean, it's late, not much is open…"

His brother deadpanned. "Sam, right now Dad has pink underwear. Trust me when I say, I will find a place that's open."

Sam bit his lip hard to keep from laughing and looked away. Dean wasn't the only Winchester who knew how to pull a prank. Of course, the real fun would begin once Dean realized their father's whites were still white and that his younger brother had gotten him good.

But Sam was quick on his feet and in the end, nothing said "I love you," "I forgive you," and "thank you" in Winchester any better than that. Especially when it involved the color pink.

The End

Author's Note: This story is based on an actual event that started the "Pink Shirt Day" anti-bullying campaign in British Columbia. When I heard the story behind the campaign, I just had to write this story!


End file.
